


Five Times Neville Didn't Reach Her in Time (And One Time He Did)

by Maiasaura



Series: Changes Everything Universe [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Agender Character, Gender Dysphoria, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Mental Health Issues, Other, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiasaura/pseuds/Maiasaura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short bits of Changes Everything from Neville's POV</p><p>“Tell me Margaret, what is coming down this river? <br/>You’ve been watching so much longer now than I. <br/>Do you know Margaret, just what will this day deliver, <br/>Does it work out tooth for tooth and eye for eye?  </p><p>They started stacking up the stones the very day that you were born. <br/>No matter how you grew, they would tower above you. <br/>You could change your name, move all the way to sunny California. <br/>But when you start your life anew, does that long shadow follow you?  </p><p>Who was it Margaret, that chose to resurrect you here for me, in scattered lines of poetry, <br/>This distant, wistful girl I see reflected in your eyes? <br/>Forgive me Margaret, all the ways I am mistaken, all the liberties I’ve taken, <br/>I’ve projected you in costumes I don’t think were quite your size.”<br/>~ Jason Webley, "Pyramid"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Neville Didn't Reach Her in Time (And One Time He Did)

NEVILLE POV

 

**February 1993**

Maggie never told anyone what was wrong.

 

This wasn’t exactly news. She hated telling people when she was having a rough time. I knew that. It was one of the few things about her that I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

 

I mean, I knew she liked birds. And history. And she loved to be outside. And she loved plants. And she enjoyed pulling pranks, and going on adventures, and dragons, and sitting in the grass, and she hated being inside too long and she hated swimming and she didn’t like music much unless it was the sound of nature around her and she would always rest her head on her hands when she was sleepy and I knew her very well, I think.

 

And I knew that she cared about me and about Harry and Hermione and Ginny and Fred and George and I knew that she cared about all of us a lot.

 

And I knew that she didn’t want any of us to be in pain. I knew that the most. I knew that from almost the moment I met her. She wanted the people around her to be happy.

 

So she would never, ever, do anything to make us unhappy, if she could help it.

 

Which meant not telling us what was wrong.

 

So, I didn’t know. I didn’t know what was wrong. And it ate me up inside.

 

I stared at her, secretly. I was hiding, you see. I was hiding behind a book on aquatic magical plants of the British Isles and she was staring out the window again. She wasn’t crying. I don’t think I’d ever seen her cry – if I ever saw her cry then I would know. I would know shit had hit the fan.

 

So I watched her and I worried because of course I was worried Maggie was – what was she doing. Why was she just staring out of the window, looking so sad that it broke my heart.

 

 _Stop it Neville_.

 

I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help how I felt about her. She’d never feel the same way about me but that was okay. I think. I thought. I thought… it would be okay.

 

 _Selfish selfish selfish weirdo_.

 

I bit the inside of my cheek hard and I continued to secretly watch her from my book. It didn’t matter, what I felt. What mattered was her. She was staring out the window and she looked lost but she wasn’t lost she was here in Hogwarts with me and all her other friends that she probably cared about more but she was here and she shouldn’t have looked lost. Nope. Not lost.

 

I gathered up all my courage.

 

The Sorting Hat had made a mistake but I might as well try to act like a Gryffindor.

 

 _The Sorting Hat doesn’t make mistakes_.

 

Yes it does. It does all the time.

 

I…

 

I was a mistake.

 

 _You were vital in the Third Floor Corridor_.

 

Maybe.

 

Yeah, I guess.

 

Whatever.

 

I was still a mistake. I didn’t fit. I knew I didn’t fit. People would call me words and they wouldn’t fit but they were what I was, I guess, so, there you go.

 

Gryffindor? Sure. Fine. Doesn’t fit. Okay.

 

Boy? Sure. Fine. Doesn’t fit. Okay.

 

Best Mate of Harry Potter? Sure. Fine. Doesn’t Fit. Okay.

 

Hero? Sure. Fine. Doesn’t Fit. Okay.

 

Top of Class in a Subject? Sure. Fine. Doesn’t Fit. Okay.

 

Mates with Maggie Johnson and Hermione Granger? Sure. Fine. Doesn’t Fit. Okay.

 

I wasn’t worthy of any of it. Nothing fit. I was placed in boxes. Boxes too small. Boxes not meant for me. Meant for someone better than me.

 

I was too absorbed in myself. I quickly looked back. Maggie still looked lost.

 

 _Just do it_.

 

I got up and walked to her. She looked up at me, not curiously as she might have before. Just. With that same facial expression. Just the same as before.

 

I took a deep breath.

 

She was too beautiful. She was too good. Even when unfathomably sad. Too good. Too good for me, the weirdo, the freak. Too good for me.

 

“Do you want to go to the Greenhouses with me?” I asked timidly. Didn’t want her to think anything of it. Just wanted to cheer her. Make her smile.

 

“I’m good, thank you Neville,” Maggie whispered softly.

 

“Are you okay?” I asked.

 

I knew I wouldn’t get an answer but I tried anyway.

 

“I’m just… I’m okay,” Maggie shrugged silently.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I begged.

 

“I… no, thank you though,” Maggie had actually considered it. She was so bad that she considered putting her pain onto another – onto _me_ of all people. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no.

 

“Do you want company at least?” I offered softly. Maggie frowned, her brow furrowed as she stared at me, the most her facial expression had changed in days.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Maggie whispered softly. I sat next to her, staring out the window together.

 

Maybe if I told her?

 

Maybe?

 

I could keep her mind from destroying itself?

 

I’d work up the courage. I’d do it. I’d write her a poem and give it to her and I’d tell her how I felt and maybe she’d let me help her.

 

She continued to stare out the window and she looked unfathomably sad still and I wanted to know what had made her be like this. What had done this? Could I have stopped it?

 

Was there anything I could have done? Said? _Been?_

 

I didn’t like her being this sad. This wasn’t normal sad. This was… there was a word for it. I was sure of it. Her brain was attacking her, that had to be it, and no one was helping her fight it off. It was… it was… was she sick?

 

Was this some sort of… sickness?

 

I wanted to help her. I would help her. I hadn’t stopped this sickness from happening but I would stop it from continuing.

 

I would tell her how I felt and maybe it would cheer her or at the least give her hope and she would be glad and I would help I wanted to help I’d do anything to help.

 

Turns out, the twins would help her, I wasn’t needed, and she’d laugh in my valentine’s face.

 

I wasn’t needed.

 

**September 1993**

Whatever she had been going through, it hadn’t lasted, and that was good. I was glad. I got over my rejection – I had known it was coming anyway – and I just enjoyed our friendship.

 

It was a good one.

 

I loved being with her. I loved looking at her. I loved talking to her. I loved doing things with her. I loved…

 

I loved her, but, she didn’t love me, and I was good with that. I had gotten used to that. She liked George, and I’d get used to that too, eventually, probably, maybe. I had gotten used to being a Gryffindor. I had gotten used to what being a boy meant. Eventually I would. Probably I would.

 

Maybe I would.

 

Whatever.

 

Didn’t matter.

 

Not like there was another option.

 

My third cousin Borris had been born as a girl and then the Ministry had changed him into a boy because some list told them that he actually was a boy and that his biology was wrong so if I wasn’t on that list that meant I wasn’t a girl in actuality so I had to be a boy because there’s nothing else so there you go boy it is for me yay.

 

This was stupid.

 

Why was I even thinking about this.

 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

 

Whatever.

 

We were headed to class together. Class was good. Defense Against the Dark arts, with that man that Maggie and Harry already knew so of course he would be good unlike the last wanker we had had to suffer through and hooray, finally, someone who could teach us something decent and useful in Defense.

 

Maggie looked over at me excitedly. God I loved when she was excited. I loved when she smiled like that. Her smile stretched amazingly wide and her eyes lit up and were greener than anything I had ever seen and man, I worked with plants.

 

But she was excited because Lupin had shot chewing gum up Peeves’ nose and she was wonderful and beautiful and fierce and I was so happy she wasn’t sad anymore, even if I hadn’t been the one to make her not sad I was happy she wasn’t sad it didn’t matter who had helped her.

 

We entered the staff room and Snape was there. I ignored him. Maggie being in a good mood was always enough to make me happy, even if Snape was around. I mean, I’d have to ignore him, and pretend he wasn’t there – this morning’s lesson had been absolutely terrible – but if I just focused on Maggie’s face…

 

“Just a warning, Professor Lupin. Watch out for Miss Johnson, as she is liable to bite you at the slightest provocation. And also watch out for Mr. Longbottom, as entrusting him with anything difficult leads to failure unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

 

Well. Ignoring him didn’t work at all. There you go.

 

ouch.

 

“I was hoping Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” Lupin frowned, raising his eyebrows as he did so, “And I am sure he will perform admirably. And secondly, I don’t think Is hall have to worry about Maggie’s biting problem.”

 

“No, I’m sure _you_ won’t,” Snape snapped, and he left the Staff Room. What an odd choice of words.

 

“Now, then,” Lupin began, gesturing to the old wardrobe that we had hid in at the end of last term, which was wobbling about and rocking on its supports.

 

“Nothing to worry about. There’s a boggart in there,” Lupin continued.

 

 _Oh no_.

 

I didn’t want to face that. I knew it would turn into Snape and I didn’t want to see Snape again, not today. I’d filled my quota for today. And he was going to have me lead the lesson! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!

 

_You faced a basilisk._

I did. I did face a basilisk. I could. I could do this.

 

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks - I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock.  _This_  one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice. It’s unknown why it moved in here, but usually boggarts enjoy lodging themselves in places near or directly in where immense fear occurred. Can anyone explain why?” Lupin asked.

 

I looked over at Harry and Maggie. They both grinned at me, and I relaxed a little as I grinned back. It was quite obvious why a boggart had chosen this wardrobe.

 

Lupin continued to talk and Harry and Hermione answered his questions because they were brilliant. Harry needed to give himself more credit, that was for sure. Maggie was just frowning as she listened. Even when she frowned, like this, in concentration, it was beautiful.

 

“And this is where you come in, Neville.”

 

I shook in fright. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Maggie looked at me worriedly – she didn’t want me to be in pain. But she couldn’t help me here.

 

“Right, Neville. First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”

 

“Professor Snape,” I mumbled very quietly. I didn’t want anyone to hear me.

 

“Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” Lupin said.

 

I sighed. I looked over at Maggie, and her facial expression – of worry, of caring, of compassion – gave me strength. I would do it.

 

“Professor Snape.”

 

Everyone started laughing at me, as I expected, but Maggie was laughing at me, and Maggie – Maggie would never laugh at me. I knew that. So she was laughing with me? Maybe? I couldn’t help but laugh when she laughed so I did.

 

“Professor Snape… hmm… Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?” Lupin asked.

 

“Er, yes,” I felt my eyes widen. I hated. Hated. Hated. Being at home. “But I don’t want the boggart to, you know, turn into her either.”

 

“No no, you misunderstood me,” Lupin reassured, “I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”

 

Er, why?

 

“Well, always the same hat, a tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress… green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf…”

 

“And a handbag?” Lupin asked.

 

“A big red one,” I offered. This was strange. Why did he care?

 

“Right then,” Lupin said, “Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?”

 

“Yes,” I murmured, picturing it clearly. I looked over at Maggie for strength again before turning back to Lupin.

 

“When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape. And you will raise your wand – thus – and cry _Riddikulus!_ – and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag.”

 

Everyone was laughing appreciatively and I giggled too, though giggling wasn’t something a boy should do, I supposed.

 

“If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn. I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you the most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…”

 

Hermione, Maggie, and Harry were all frowning in concentration now. I was nervous, but not as much as I might have been.

 

After all, I’d faced a basilisk.

 

And won.

 

Still I was scared. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to have everyone staring at me. I didn’t want to have all eyes on me. Oh no. Please. Please look away. Please.

 

“Everyone ready?” Lupin called.

 

Well fuck.

 

“Neville, we’re going to back away. Let you have a clear field, all right? I’ll call the next person forward… Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot…”

 

I looked over at Maggie, but she looked to be in even more distress than I was. Why? What was her fear going to be? Was she going to be okay? I mouthed at her to help but she looked to be in too much pain to do so.

 

“On the count of three, Neville,” Lupin began, “One – Two – Three – now!’

 

The door opened. Snape came out. I grimaced, and my heart clenched, and everything was too much, and I was afraid, I didn’t want him to call me names again or hurt me again or make me feel worthless again. Please. Please no. Why did it have to be him.

 

Why was I afraid of him and not a giant snake.

 

“R – r – riddikulus!” I managed to force out. A whip crack filled the air. Snape was wearing a green dress and the hat and all my gran’s clothes and it was _funny_. Not enough to make me not afraid, but I managed out a laugh.

 

Parvati was rushed forward and I breathed in relief as I backed up, but Maggie still looked terrified. Fear after fear after fear and Maggie was still looking terrified and I wanted to help but I couldn’t help.

 

Maggie was called forward.

 

I watched her in worry – what would happen?

 

The boggart cracked.

 

Harry was dead on the floor.

 

Lavendar Brown screamed next to me but my mouth dropped open.

 

Of course.

 

Oh no.

 

Maggie.

 

No.

 

I walked forward and reached the front of the crowd, but I couldn’t reach her, I couldn’t force myself to move forward to her to help her. My feet. Were nailed. To. The. Floor.

 

Maggie gasped out Riddikulus but it didn’t matter. Harry became Hermione. She was dead too. More people were shouting but I was still nailed to the floor.

 

Maggie was crying now.

 

Oh no.

 

Maggie never cried. Never. She cried when things were really bad. When Hermione was petrified. When Harry was dying.

 

Oh no.

 

Was she going to spiral into that sadness again? That deep sadness?

 

WHY DIDN’T I COME FORWARD?!

 

She gasped out Riddikulus again but now the body was me.

 

Why was I the third body? Shouldn’t one of the twins – probably George – have been next?

 

I tried to come forward. I had to come forward. Maggie had fallen to the ground and she was sobbing so heavily I couldn’t help it, my heart broke, it shattered, it was fragments of glass at the bottom of my chest and why couldn’t I come forward why was I frozen in fear why couldn’t I help her oh god now she’d have this image in her brain forever the image of the three of us dead no no no no no curse you Lupin curse you for hurting her she was going to spiral and it was my fault because I couldn’t come forward and –

 

Lupin stepped forward, helped her, she got up.

 

I finished off the boggart, but I hadn’t done it when I should have.

 

I was pointless.

 

**June 1995**

“Do you need me to help you study for Charms?” I asked softly. She looked so stressed out. I wanted to help her so much.

 

She really needed to start letting me help her. Or anyone. Anyone help her at all.

 

 _You’re helping her with Draco prima_.

  
That’s a bit different.

 

“No, thank you Neville,” she smiled at me softly, “I think I just need to crack down on the books alone, you know? You might distract me.”

 

I laughed. If I hadn’t known better, I would have construed that in a way that was wrong. Distraction. She distracted me, because I was in love with her, and her hair was beautiful and her eyes were beautiful and everything she said was much more fascinating than anything around me.

 

And I knew she loved me in a way. Not the way I loved her, but in a way. In a way that meant she would talk to me for days and days about gender. In a way that meant that we would study science together and try to drill it into our heads. In a way that meant that we were constantly talking together, and I didn’t have a day go by without seeing her. In a way that meant she kissed me on the cheek when she was thankful.

 

It wasn’t the same way but it was a way.

 

So perhaps my friendship would distract her, yes. I understood.

 

“How has George been lately?” I asked, frowning. Bastard. Rat bastard. He kept asking her if she loved me. How cruel that was to me, how crueler it was to her. He should trust her. I’d trust her.

 

I trusted her with my life.

 

And he kept forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do. I could see it. I could see every manipulation, every twist of the words that left her no choice.

 

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him in a few days,” Maggie shrugged.

 

 _Break up with him_.

 

He’s twisting her actions and forcing her to not, you know that.

 

Dammit how did you help someone out of an abusive relationship how do you do it how how how how how?

 

“I’m sorry,” I offered, even though I wasn’t at all.

 

“It’s alright,” Maggie sighed, “I don’t actually mind much, it seems. Anyway. I should study. I’ll be in the library if you need me, Nev.”

 

“Alright Mags,” I smiled at her and watched her walk up the stairs, wishing that she had let me go with her, for some reason. I didn’t quite know why. Probably just my usual yearning to be with her.

 

And then I didn’t see her again for approximately thirty six hours.

 

Supposedly she came to class, but I didn’t see her.

 

“I wonder where Maggie is,” I murmured at lunch, looking around the room wildly. She was nowhere.

 

“Er, probably avoiding George,” Hermione sighed.

 

“What happened?” Harry asked, his mouth filled with food. Hermione frowned at him and he swallowed sheepishly.

 

“They finally broke up,” Hermione clarified.

 

_OH HAPPY HAPPY DAY!_

“Well fuck,” Harry groaned.

 

“This is a good thing and you bloody well know it,” Hermione snapped.

 

“I do,” Harry agreed, “But she’s not going to be happy.”

 

“No, but I don’t blame her for avoiding everyone. Best to just let her have her time,” Hermione looked over at me and glared at me.

 

“What?!” I responded defensively.

 

“You especially, Neville,” Hermione stated firmly.

 

“I’m not going to try anything for a long time! Don’t be ridiculous,” I glared at her.

 

“Come on, Mione, give Neville some credit,” Harry agreed.

 

“I know, I just doubt she’d appreciate one of the people in her life she can trust and count on asking her out literally the moment after she’s single again,” Hermione paused, “I don’t think she’d appreciate that.”

 

“Obviously not,” I agreed, rolling my eyes, “Look, I’m not going to do anything. I promise. I’m going to give her plenty of space.”

 

But I shouldn’t have.

 

She came to breakfast the morning of the third task, I suppose, because she had to. She looked… small.

 

Why did she look so small?

 

I was so confused. I rushed to her side because I couldn’t stop myself. She was nibbling on food and curled up on herself and basically huddled into the smallest ball I had ever seen her huddled into.

 

Why was she so small when she was free?

 

She probably didn’t think of herself as free. Just thought of her heart as broken.

 

Stupid selfish self centered ignorant idiot Neville.

 

Stupid.

 

Stupid.

 

Stupid.

 

“Fred told us what happened,” Hermione murmured to her. She didn’t look up, but closed in tighter around herself, became smaller, became smaller.

 

“We’re so sorry, Maggie,” Harry rubbed his sister’s back but she was still so so so so small.

 

“The guy was a wanker. Breaking up with you like that? Right before the task? Bloody hell,” I glowered in fury. I wanted to kill him. “He’s been avoiding everyone since then.”

 

“He’s been acting completely mental for months, we’ve all seen it, even Fred,” Hermione soothed, “No one thinks you did anything wrong. You shouldn’t have to avoid us.”

 

Why was she so small?

 

She was shaking in her spot. What. Why was she shaking in her spot.

 

 _Something’s wrong_.

 

Something much, much, much more wrong was wrong than just what I knew about.

 

“Thanks guys,” she whispered. She looked up.

 

Her face was so pained. So lost. So hurt. So.

 

She was so small.

 

Something else had happened.

 

I just. Knew it.

 

She insisted on going to the task. But I knew. I knew something was wrong. She was small. She was too small. Something. Something had. Something had happened.

 

I knew it. I just. I knew it.

 

But what?

 

Dinner before the task, I saw her look up and look at him. Or, perhaps, she just looked up, and he was in that direction? Because as I watched her small, broken self, she flinched.

 

She visibly flinched when she looked at George down the table, quite far away from her.

 

What happened?

 

Did he hit her?

 

He must have hit her. Yes. Oh god. No. Not. No.

 

I opened my mouth. I had to ask her. I had to – I had to find out. But the words couldn’t come out and the task was starting and she and Harry were going off to fight in the task and oh no did he hit her did he hit her did he hit her did he hit her –

 

The task broke her more and I was powerless, but I already was powerless. I was powerless because I didn’t know what George had done.

 

I just knew he had done something.

 

She didn’t recover, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t have the courage to ask her. I didn’t have the ability to approach her and ask why she was broken.

 

I think I was afraid of the answer.

 

“What do you think happened?” Hermione asked softly as the summer waned on and we were stuck in the house of dirt and filth and cobwebs and evil.

 

“I have no idea,” I whispered. I hated being here. I hated that she didn’t respond to my letters. I hated. I hated. I hated. I hated.

 

“Yeah you do, Neville, you’ve had an idea since the day of the third task, I can always tell when you realize something,” Hermione sighed.

 

“I think he hit her,” I muttered softly.

 

“Really?” Hermione frowned.

 

“You don’t?” I asked in surprise.

 

“Well I just… if he hit her, why would he break up with her? I don’t think that abusers let people go like that, especially if their abuse escalates. Hitting her would be him trying to control her and keep her with him,” Hermione shook her head sadly.

 

“Okay,” I frowned.

 

“And I didn’t see any signs of him having hit her, either,” Hermione frowned.

 

“Okay, then what do you think it was?” I sighed.

 

“Well… er…” Hermione grimaced, “Please don’t fly off the handle.”

 

“I’m not entirely sure how I’m supposed to avoid doing that,” I raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yes, good point,” Hermione acknowledged, “Well… what did she tell you that one time, when you had your fight after training Harry for the first task?”

 

“Bloody hell, how do you remember everything?” I asked in amazement, “I don’t bloody well remember.”

 

“Yeah you do, Nev,” Hermione whispered.

 

“I… she… he was making them move too fast, I think –“ I felt my eyes widen in shock, “No. No. He wouldn’t do that. No.”

 

“What other explanation is there?”

 

“Why would he break up with her after _that?_ ”

 

“I dunno. Maybe he thought it was just sex, and her not enjoying it made him finally give up?”

 

“If this is true, I’m going to – I’m going to –“

 

“Neville –“

 

“If George raped Maggie, I’m going to kill him!” I shouted. My heart was clenched in terror and my mind was racing and he better not have, he better not have, he better not have –

 

But what else would have broken Maggie like that? Render her into a shell of her former self? Isolated her from everyone who cared about her?

 

I saw it coming. I knew. I knew the moment we had talked on the steps and she had mentioned he was pressuring her.

 

I knew it.

 

And I had done nothing to stop it.

 

I was weak.

 

**September 1995**

She had been through too much.

 

I had finally managed to help her. She had finally, for the first time in our lives, let me help her. And I did. I helped her. I helped her get over her addiction and come back to the world and I had helped her and I was so glad.

 

But I wished I didn’t have to help her in the first place.

 

Why couldn’t I prevent the pain from happening in the first place?

 

This was too much. Much too much. Too much for any one person to handle.

 

“I wish I had another place to go,” she sighed at dinner, staring at Harry’s retreating back. Detention was coming and she would have to go in alone. I didn’t like her being alone.

 

I couldn’t stop bad things from happening to her _again_ when she was alone.

 

“Maybe you could ask Professor McGonagall to use her classroom?” Hermione asked softly.

 

“Yeah, I think I will. I need to focus, though, who knows how long detention will take. I’ll see you guys later,” she smiled weakly at me and waved.

 

“When are you going to tell her?” Hermione sighed as I watched her go wistfully, wishing I could follow her.

 

“When it’s time,” I stated firmly. I knew she loved me. Or – or – I thought I knew. I was pretty sure. The signs were there. And not platonic love. No, I knew she platonically loved me, and had known for years, this was not news.

 

Romantic love, though.

 

That was news.

 

But I couldn’t ignore the look in her eyes when I had nursed her back to health. The way she watched me as I crawled next to her to sleep in each other’s arms. The mere fact that we slept in each other’s arms.

 

My heart lodged in my throat.

 

She loved me.

 

She actually loved me.

 

But she wasn’t doing anything about it and did she just love me because I had cared for her? Probably.

 

I’d take anything.

 

 _Stupid selfish selfish Neville_.

 

 _Taking advantage of a poor broken girl_.

 

No, I wasn’t.

 

I wasn’t going to do anything or tell her anything unless I knew she was ready.

 

I wasn’t.

 

I wasn’t.

 

 **I wasn’t**.

 

I went to detention. Umbridge yelled at me. She told me I was a boy. She forced me to write it on my hand. She forced me to dig it into my skin and write the word on paper in my own blood. The scar would stare at me, yelling at me, screaming at me, telling me that I was a boy, until whatever day I’d finally meet my end.

 

But this isn’t a story about me.

 

Or, at least, this isn’t a story about that.

 

I think.

 

Years of struggling for an identity and this woman tries to destroy it?

 

This woman almost succeeds?

 

No.

 

This is not a story about that.

 

Maggie didn’t come back to the room that night.

 

I stayed up all night, watching the door, waiting for her to come back. I was so scared. So terrified. Something had happened to her again. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.

 

The moment I let her out of my sight and she was in trouble again.

 

Why. Why. Why. Why.

 

Why.

 

Couldn’t.

 

I.

 

Protect.

 

Her.

 

I just wanted to protect her. I knew she could take her of herself, but things kept happening to her that no one could protect themself from and it wasn’t her fault that she kept getting hurt.

 

She was strong. She was so strong.

 

She could defend herself against Voldemort and giant spiders and basilisks and Death Eaters and every manner of terrible thing imaginable.

 

It wasn’t her fault that authority kept hurting her. People in positions of power kept hurting her. It wasn’t her fault. It had nothing to do with her. She was so strong.

 

So strong.

 

So strong.

 

The fact that she kept going when people kept hurting her just proved it.

 

She’d trust people – trust them with authority or with her heart – and they’d hurt her.

 

It wasn’t. Her. Fault.

 

And I wanted to protect her because in a world where everyone was actually out to get you you needed someone to help you through it. She protected me. I protected her.

 

We protected each other. It was what we did. It is what we do.

 

And I needed her to protect me from this horrible woman who denied me myself and access to myself and being true to who I was and forced me into a box that I had determined long ago did _not fit_. It hurt. That box hurt. It hurt me a lot and why would she force me back into it?

 

But Maggie didn’t come home and I knew that she would need so much more help than I did.

 

So much more help.

 

Maggie.

 

Maggie.

 

Maggie.

 

I stayed up all night watching the door. Waiting. I was so tired but I couldn’t sleep. Not when she was in danger.

 

George must have found her again. He was raping her again. He was hurting her again. He was. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

 

 

 

NO.

 

 

The door opened. It was morning. I looked up and saw McGonagall in the doorway.

 

“Where is she?” I croaked out, so tired my bones ached and so afraid my heart wasn’t beating properly anymore. I didn’t even care that my hand was caked in dried blood.

 

“In my office, come –“ but she didn’t have to say anymore. I dove out of the room and into McGonagall’s office.

 

Maggie was small, curled up into a ball on herself, and she was clawing at her wrists desperately – as to though to make them break. As though to break herself.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

Make it stop.

 

I ran forward to her and I grabbed her hands and held them against my chest before she could claw apart her skin. “No. No, Maggie. No.”

 

She looked at me but she didn’t say anything, she looked like she hadn’t slept a wink and she looked so scared. So destroyed.

 

Not again.

 

How had I not prevented something like this happening _again?_

“What happened?” I roared, turning to McGonagall, “What happened? _WHAT HAPPENED?_ ”

 

“Professor Umbridge locked Maggie in her office all night as a form of punishment, and it appears that she did not tell Maggie she was doing this,” McGonagall whispered.

 

_Oh thank god he didn’t rape her again._

_STUPID_

_SELFISH_

_NEVILLE_

No. That wasn’t a selfish thought. Him raping her would probably have been worse than this. The fact that this was terrible was not something I was ignoring.

 

I howled in fury.

 

How dare that woman.

 

How dare that horrid, horrid, horrid woman.

 

I held her as tightly as I could because I had to keep her together. I didn’t help her in time, I didn’t get to her, I didn’t stop this from happening, but I would make sure the damage was contained. I would make sure she was okay. I would keep. Her. Alive.

 

“What did she do to you, Neville?” McGonagall asked, but what did I matter?

 

“She – she made me write ‘I am a boy’ over and over on a piece of paper… and it was with a quill that… erm…” Why are we talking about me when Maggie was the one who needed help, “Well, it scratched the back of my hand, used my blood as ink.” I held up my hand so they could see even though I didn’t know why we were talking about me and not her right now.

 

McGonagall gasped as Maggie grabbed my hand and looked at it, horrified, tears leaking from her eyes.

 

Why was she wasting her energy on me?

 

_She loves you._

_Probably._

_Most likely._

“It’s alright, it’s not as bad as _this_ , oh my god, all night when you didn’t come back – I was so worried – that George had attacked you or something – I couldn’t – I didn’t sleep at all –“ I sobbed. I couldn’t stop myself. If he had hurt her again I wouldn’t have ever forgiven myself but I wouldn’t forgive myself for this either why was I just completely utterly incapable of stopping bad things from happening to her? Why? Why? Why?

 

When would it end?

 

_Run._

I wanted to take her and run. We would go to Canada. We would dig up dinosaurs together and maybe teach somewhere together or at least go to school so we could teach somewhere together and maybe when we were safe we could be together and keep each other extra safe and I just wanted to run. Run. Run.

 

This was enough.

 

I was done with the war.

 

_No._

_Harry needs you too._

How long would I be able to be strong and stay?

 

How long would Maggie survive if we stayed?

 

“I didn’t… know… if I was ever going to leave,” Maggie said in such a hoarse voice I could just picture her screaming in terror all night and I knew that picture was correct and I couldn’t stop crying, “I… I slept… nightmares… terrible… when I woke up… wasn’t even safe…”

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god.

 

Oh god.

 

When would I ever stop these things from happening?

 

Would I?

 

**November 1996**

Apparently not.  

 

Something had happened to her again. I knew it. I just knew it.

 

Queer club had been terrible. People had denied Hermione her identity and policed it and there were traumatized kids in there who clearly thought that their lives would be full of this kind of stuff and they were probably right but that didn’t mean we had to expose them to it now, did it?

 

So I walked in, furious for Hermione, ready to talk about this stupid group of people rising up against our rebellion, when I saw Maggie on the couch.

 

She was crying. She was crying, and surrounded by raptors, and she was hugging them for dear life, so I knew something had happened.

 

_Again._

Why did things keep happening to her?

 

I knew something was up. McGonagall would never insist that she come to a research meeting. Something was up. And _McGonagall_ couldn’t even protect her.

 

“Mags? What’s wrong?” I asked, running to her. I held her tightly against me, keeping her together. If I pressed her face to my chest and kept her as close to me as possible I would prevent her from breaking again.

 

I had to prevent her from breaking again.

 

I had to prevent her from –

 

I had to prevent –

 

I had to –

 

I had –

 

I had lost.

 

I continuously lost.

 

I just. Kept. Losing.

 

Losing this war against people who wanted to hurt Maggie, specifically.

 

They were out to hurt her.

 

“I can’t tell you now,” Maggie whispered, relaxing in my arms, “How did Alliance go?”

 

“Oh Merlin,” I groaned, but I wasn’t deterred. I was still terrified. “There was such a disaster – I wish you could have been there so I could take care of it while you kept the multisexual group going –“

 

“What happened?” she asked, looking around, noticing Hermione and how she had been crying.

 

There goes Maggie again.

 

Unable to deal with the people around her being hurt, she forgoes her own safety to keep them happy.

 

“Some asshole – dammit, in the asexual group they were talking about sex repulsion, and some _dickwad_ in the group said you _couldn’t be asexual if you liked having sex_ ,” I couldn’t help my hiss. I was still mad. But at least I had prevented that meeting from getting _even worse_.

 

“No!” Maggie shrieked.

 

“Yup,” I answered, “Said that unless you were sex repulsed in some way you weren’t a true asexual and you were an imposter in the community.”

 

“Oh no,” Maggie growled, looking furious. Good. She needed to be furious. She needed to not be broken again.

 

“I managed to throw him out but the danger was done – there was a lot of arguing and a lot of the younger ones were seriously scared by the identity policing,” I hissed, “Hermione did most of the fighting –“

 

“It’s just not true!” Mione shrieked. She had been through too much recently, too. She couldn’t keep handling it all piling on. “I’m not sex repulsed! I mean I don’t have any interest in sex whatsoever – if the person I was dating wanted to have it and I was emotionally on board I’d do it but I wouldn’t seek it out – he had no idea – how long it took me to realize I was _really asexual_ – because I wasn’t repulsed by the idea – it’s so damaging to say such things!”

 

I knew the feeling.

 

“I know, Mione, I know, don’t worry, he’s not allowed back in, the prick,” I growled.

 

“Who was it?” Maggie asked.

 

She needed to tell me what was wrong and actually take care of herself, but she wasn’t.

 

If I lost her _again_ –

 

“Terrence Vanders – fifth year Hufflepuff – little turd – we kicked him out of the bloody room and he won’t be let back in again,” I growled.

 

“Good,” Maggie nodded. I opened my mouth to ask her, again, what had happened.

 

I knew the look of her broken so well now.

 

Something had happened.

 

And I hadn’t prevented it.

 

Again.

 

“Now what’s this meeting about?” Hermione asked. People started filing in more and I was cut off from asking Maggie, no, demanding Maggie tell me what happened so I could help her.

 

“You’ll see,” Maggie sighed. I looked at her, willing for her to tell me. She shook her head at me.

 

Oh no.

 

She couldn’t shut me out.

 

That was the worst case scenario.

 

“Alright!” Ernie shouted, “Alright!”

 

I paid attention to Ernie, but I was still focused on Maggie. Still focused on keeping her put together. Still focused – still – I hadn’t – again – not – fast – enough – I didn’t – I – couldn’t – help – her – no – no – no – no – no –

 

I pitched in when I had to, of course. I was there as much as anyone and I went up to the front of the room with Ernie and Nadia and Ginny and Sam and we stood there, but Maggie was small, too small, breaking, breaking down, again, dying again, dying – maybe not her body but her mind – constantly wrecked –

 

“I don’t need to go anyway,” Maggie said, to the idea of going to cities to collect data on the backlash. I looked over at her.

 

What was wrong.

 

Tell me.

 

Tell me, Maggie.

 

Please.

 

“Why not?” I whispered. I breathed. I couldn’t – Maggie.

 

Maggie.

 

Maggie.

 

Maggie.

 

The woman I loved. The girl I grew up with. My best mate. My soul mate. My. My Maggie.

 

Who hurt you this time.

 

How have I failed you this time.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t meant o say that,” Maggie whispered.

 

“Maggie, you look upset – what’s wrong?” Hermione asked. I was breaking. I didn’t know what had happened and the lack of knowing was breaking me. Maggie.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Maggie insisted.

 

Enough.

 

You will.

 

I couldn’t prevent it but I’ll help you afterwards.

 

“Mags, you were crying when we walked in, I’m kind of going mental with worry right now,” I mumbled. I was trapped in my own mind. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped. Trapped with worry. Trapped with fear. Trapped with – with –

 

Dread.

 

“I just mean that I already know the Ministry is pushing back at us,” Maggie whispered. She was shaking. She was small. She was panicking. I turned to face her, my back to the crowd, crouching to meet her eyes. Her eyes were filled with so much dark, desperate fear. So much fear. She was shaking and I wrapped my arms around her tightly to keep her together.

 

“What happened? Mags, what happened?” I was shaking too now. I was shaking with her. She had been hurt again and I hadn’t stopped it.

 

I could never stop it.

 

And it wasn’t may fault. I knew that now.

 

“I can’t say it,” she whispered.

 

“You have to tell me,” I was crying now, “Mags – Mags – please, if you don’t you’ll spiral – please – I can’t have you spiral again, I can’t –“

 

I had to keep her with me.

 

I had to stop her from breaking down again.

 

I had.

 

I had.

 

 

 I. 

 

“My meeting with McGonagall today was because the Ministry transfiguration people were checking to make sure what I said my animagus form w-was correct,” Maggie answered.

 

What did they do to you.

 

What did those scoundrels do to _you_ , Maggie. What did they do to you.

 

Tell me.

 

Tell me, Maggie.

 

Tell me, Margaret.

 

I love you.

 

“Okay,” I whispered.

 

“And… they…” Maggie choked out.

 

“What did they do?” Hermione growled. No one wanted to see her hurt again.

 

I just couldn’t actually handle the guilt anymore.

 

“They started to molest me,” Maggie sobbed, “I was a dragon, but that’s what they were doing – they only stopped because McGonagall made them –“

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

I had to get Maggie out of there.

 

There was nothing I could have done. I couldn’t prevent this.

 

I was helpless.

 

**February 1997**

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Maggie said to the receptionist cheerfully, “Sirius is Harry’s godfather. He is a secondary guardian. But it is alright, I will go.”

 

And she was going.

 

No.

 

Something was going to happen.

 

Something was going to happen to my love.

 

To my Maggie.

 

Again.

 

I just – I knew when something would happen now.

 

I had some sort of weird, divination-like knowledge, premonition, prediction of when something terrible was about to happen to Maggie. Something about the receptionist’s smile? Something about the fact that he insisted that they go in alone?

 

Was it, what? Their plan? Their plan for Maggie to be alone?

 

This was the building where her Molester worked.

 

I couldn’t exact revenge on George. He was trying to redeem himself, and he was far away from me, and I couldn’t do that to Ginny, no matter how much he deserved it. No matter how much joy it would bring.

 

But her molester was here, and she could run into him, and it could be trap.

 

It had to be a trap.

 

The man’s creepy smile was all I needed to know it would be a trap. I reached out for her as she left but I was helpless.

 

****

 I would not be helpless any more.

 

I was not a child.

 

I had faced Voldemort and a Devil’s Snare at 11. I had faced a basilisk at 12. I had faced a serial killer at 13. I had searched the streets for Maggie when I was 14, and figured out my gender. I had run away and nursed Maggie back to health multiple times and survived on my own completely on my own at 15. And I had defended the castle time and time and time again and figured out the wizard genetic code on my own – completely on my own – at 16.

 

I was no child.

 

And I would not let something happen to her _again_.

 

I would stop it.

 

This time, I would stop it.

 

“No!” I shouted at the receptionist. The man looked at me in shock, but remained smiling.

 

“No! We’re going in! We can’t let them be alone in there, they’re much younger than whoever is examining them! This is unethical!” I roared.

 

“I should definitely be in there, you cannot just tell me that I cannot accompany my godson –“

 

“This is ridiculous and stupid, she’s only 17!”

 

“You will let us in, now!” Sirius agreed with me, our fury mixing as one, though I was sure mine surpassed his. Hermione, Shae, Tonks, and Lupin looked on at the proceedings in shock, simply without words as we grew furious together.

 

“Now, I simply –“

 

“I don’t care what you say you can’t do! You’re getting orders from someone!” I reached across the counter and clutched at his robes, shaking him as Lupin and Hermione shouted at me in protest, “What the fuck are you playing at?” I wouldn’t let them hurt her again. I wouldn’t. Never. Not again. No.

 

No.

 

No.

 

 

“The head of the Badge Organization and Reassignment Office had specific instructions –“

 

“WHAT WERE THEY?!” I screeched. People in the hall stared at me, but I didn’t care. I wouldn’t care anymore. I would only care about stopping her from breaking.

 

“I am not authorized to –“

 

“You will tell me now,” I hissed. I leaned forward to him and I whispered in his ear, “I know that someone here molested her during her Animagus exam. So. What is happening.”

 

The man looked at me in shock. His smile was gone, now.

 

“If you don’t let me through, I will tell everyone what your Ministry authorized, and they’ll _actually_ burn this fucker down,” I growled.

 

“I was instructed to let Miss Johnson and Mr. Potter in only. No other individuals,” the man squeaked out.

 

“Perfect. We’re going in now,” I snapped, dropping him. He looked at me in terror as I sped down the corridor, running towards the elevator.

 

“Neville! What are you _doing?_ ” Lupin roared.

 

“What I should have done all those other times,” I shot back.

 

I should have stopped her from meeting with Snape, so he could make her depressed by telling her of Harry’s fate.

 

I should have stepped forward to the boggart, and stop it from turning into her dead loved ones.

 

I should have gotten her out of her relationship with George at the first sign of trouble.

 

Or the second.

 

Or the third.

 

Or so many others.

 

I should have stopped him from raping her.

 

I should have stopped her from going into the task.

 

I should have insisted on going to America and helping her immediately rather than trick her into going home.

 

I should have gone to Umbridge’s office and rescued her from her detention.

 

I should have run in to grab Elena with her to run away.

 

I should have fought Umbridge with her.

 

I should have stopped her from trying to kill herself.

 

I should have helped her in so many battles.

 

I should have stopped them from molesting her.

 

I should have stopped the people she loved from dying.

 

I should have done a lot of things.

 

But I wouldn’t let the world hurt her again. I would burn the whole planet down before it happened again. I would do it. I would stop it. I would never. Let. Her. Break. Down. Again.

 

“Neville –“

 

I ignored Lupin and I kept running. I ran down the hallways as people shouted after me, ignoring them. I had to save her. I had to grab her and run. It was time. It was time to run.

 

Everything she had done for me – believed in me, studied science with me, defended me, protected me – and what had I done for her? Put her back together after she was broken?

 

I should never have let her get broken in the first place.

 

We finally reached the office and I ran to the doorknob.

 

“Neville, control yourself, we’re not even supposed to be in here!” Lupin hissed.

 

“We have to,” I growled back.

 

“At the very least, knock,” Hermione whispered.

 

“What if they don’t let me in?” I snapped.

 

“Well obviously you should barge in,” Hermione agreed, “Nothing about this feels right. But you should knock anyway.”

 

I looked at her, before accepting defeat. I nodded and sighed, knocking on the door. The door was wrenched open and Maggie looked at me, clearly in a panic, clearly freaking out.

 

What was happening?

 

Had I not gotten here in time?

 

“Have you finished this nonsense?” Sirius said behind me but I didn’t care much I had to figure out why Maggie was panicking.

 

“Mr. Black, you are not authorized to be –“

 

“Like hell I’m not,” Sirius growled, “This is ridiculous. Maggie is barely an adult, certainly not on the same plane as you, this could hardly be considered a conference between adults. What exactly are you doing here?”

 

“Changing Mr. Potter’s –“

 

I looked at Maggie and I studied her face. I had my inklings of what this meeting was really for – why they had trapped Maggie in this room with this strange man. They talked around us but Maggie’s face was everything I needed. She was freaking out. She was panicking. She was absolutely, completely, one hundred percent terrified.

 

I looked at her in desperation and her expression was all I needed.

 

This was the man.

 

This was the man who had hurt her.

 

And I wouldn’t let him hurt her again.

 

I would stop it this time.

 

I would.

 

I was NOT helpless.

 

I WOULD stop these things from happening.

 

I was NOT weak.

 

I was NOT pointless.

 

 _I._  

_Was._

_NEEDED._

I ran forward and I grabbed the man – Dawlish, his nametag said – by his robes. A fuel of adrenaline, fury, and desperation drove me forward.

 

Do I hit him?

 

Do I slap him?

 

Do I threaten him, like the receptionist?

 

Do I point my wand at him?

 

Do I smash his head into the desk?

 

The last one felt right. I thought all of this very fast. I had to think fast to protect her. To stop her from breaking again.

 

I brought his head down as hard as I could – he wasn’t expecting it – I was as rough as possible and I reveled in the feeling of destroying something of his – instead of him destroying something of Maggie’s – _SLAM_ –his head hit something hard – I could feel the ripple of it through my grip – I pulled him back up as fast as I could and stared at him. Blood was seeping from a wound on his forehead.

 

Good.

 

Everyone was shouting but I didn’t give a flying fuck.

 

“You,” I growled, “Will fucking leave her alone.”

 

No one would come near her again.

 

Dawlish nodded, his blood flying everywhere.

 

“You will not report this injury to anyone,” I hissed, “You will not use it as further excuse to attack me or the people I care about. You will not tell anyone.”

 

Dawlish nodded again. Good.

 

“If you do, I will come back, and you will regret it,” I growled, “You are lucky I am not doing more now, you disgusting pig. I have dirt on you and I will not hesitate to hurt you again, so you better fucking stay quiet.”

 

Dawlish nodded again. I dropped him because I was done with him now.

 

“Some adult type person, fix his forehead,” I muttered. It would be no good if he died.

 

“Let’s go,” I muttered, “Harry’s badge is changed. I assume you need nothing more from us?” I glared. He nodded rapidly and I left, furious, angry, but I had stopped it.

 

I had stopped it in time.

 

I had rescued her in time, and she would not be broken this time.

 

“Neville that was extremely reckless and dangerous –“

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“You have gotten us all into terrible trouble –“

 

“No, I haven’t,” I insisted.

 

“How do you figure that, Neville?” Shae asked.

 

“Because he’s the man who molested Maggie,” I growled. Everyone responded in protest but, I didn’t care much. I had stopped it.

 

I had stopped her from breaking.

 

I had stopped her from dying again.

 

“I’m sure the action was instructed by Ministry members, but if it got out that this happened to her, the rebellion wouldn’t hesitate to burn this whole place down,” I laughed happily – I would help.

 

I would take joy in the burning.

 

“So I doubt he will ignore my threat.”

 

“Neville –“

 

Lupin

 

 _Shut up_.

 

“Don’t you fucking get it?” I roared at him, turning to face him, “Don’t any of you just fucking get it?”

 

“We’re not bloody children!” I roared, “We’re not. We’ve had to take care of ourselves for nearly two fucking years. Who fucking faced Voldemort in the graveyard when he returned? Harry. Who had to find, then took care of, Maggie, and helped her return to the world after she was _bloody raped and tortured?_ Me! Who had to fight Umbridge off to save all of our fucking skins? Maggie! Who _started a mother fucking rebellion that has prevented the Ministry from pulling all of this shite again?_ HERMIONE! So just STOP. Just _fucking. Stop._ We will take care of our own problems and we’ll do it in our way. I’m going home.”

 

I wouldn’t let her break again.

 

I would stop her from breaking again.

 

I would never, ever, ever let anyone break her again.

 

I would die before that happened.

 

I had gotten to her in time, and I would do it again, and again, and again.

 

Because she had been broken enough.

**Author's Note:**

> All of these are scenes I wanted to see from Neville's POV, but were too short to warrant their own deleted scene - otherwise, some of the deleted scene moments would have been more important to include here. But there you go. I was inspired by the song I've used for this deleted scene to write it. Please, please comment! Thank you!


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